“Not yet.”
“He’s a doctor from Hattiesburg.” She brushed his hair out of his face, and Malcolm resisted the urge to grab her hands into his own before she started grooming him like a monkey.
“I believe Miss Gertie’s mentioned that.”
“A plastic surgeon.” She reached up to wipe at a smudge at the corner of his mouth when Truman’s voice sounded from behind him.
“Mind if I cut in?”
Malcolm turned to ask the older man where Roxanne was, when he noticed she was dancing with his guardian. And if Truman cut in and danced with Lila that meant …
A crazy sort of excitement shot through Malcolm. He could hold Roxanne close, in public, and it would be acceptable because they would be dancing.
“Not at all.” Malcolm released Lila.
“Lila?” Truman asked, offering his hand to the model.
“Of course.”
He’d been working too hard. That was all, Malcolm told himself as he pulled Roxanne into the circle of his embrace. It had been a tough year. He’d been working too hard on his campaign. Working too hard when he was in session. Working too hard in his practice. Those reasons and only those reasons were why he felt this way when he held Roxanne in his arms and danced her around the concrete dance “floor.” Or at least that’s what he wanted to believe. Truth be known, he had wanted this since the very first millisecond he laid eyes on his sexy client.
Client. He had to keep thinking client. He had to keep his distance if only for professional reasons. He was her attorney. She was his client. It didn’t matter that she smelled like a meadow full of wildflowers just after a rainstorm. It didn’t matter that she had those killer blue eyes and soft, curly hair. And it surely didn’t matter that she was wearing those oh-so-sexy shoes. He had to maintain his professional distance.
But if she weren’t his client and he didn’t have to watch his every step in order to protect his reputation and good standing in the public eye, then tonight might end up differently for the two of them. He might take her home with him—not to Miss Beulah’s, but to his apartment. They’d close the door behind them. He’d take the pins out of her crazy hair and watch the dark mass of curls tumble down her back. Then he’d take his time undoing all those silk-covered buttons down the front of her dress, leaving a kiss behind each one …
As if somehow sensing his thoughts, Roxanne missed a beat and collided with him, but the contact was bittersweet. The heat of her so close sent contradicting shivers racing down his spine. Hot and oh-so-sweet. Her right foot landed squarely on his left instep, sending shards of pain racing from his ankle to his toes.
He winced, then sighed as the discomfort brought him back to reality. This daydream-interruptus was for the best. Some parts of him had no idea that the fantasy—though magnificent—could never be realized.
“That sounded terminal.”
Malcolm glanced down at the woman he held in his arms. He tried to smile and mask the turmoil of emot—er, lust he was feeling. “I’ll live.”
They danced a few bars more, each one lost in their own thoughts. Then Roxanne tilted her head back at the angle just right for kissing and said, “Nice party.”
Malcolm swallowed hard. Lord, he could barely think with her staring up at him. Maybe dancing with Roxanne wasn’t such a good idea after all. Her legs brushed his, and once again he soaked in her sweet warmth.
Then again, maybe it was the best idea he’d had all year.
• • •
Lila finished her dance with Truman and begged off another. She wanted to dance with Malcolm again, but he seemed to have his hands full with that Yankee reporter, and she had something of her own to take care of.
She snagged a drink for herself and one for Elliot and set off to apologize. It wasn’t becoming for a southern beauty queen to accuse her date of an alternative lifestyle without having more to go on, but it seemed the stress of her birthday and the thought of her life going straight down the tubes with it was a little more than she could handle right now.
She would kindly ask for Elliot’s forgiveness, present him with a Jack on the rocks—he looked like a whiskey man to her, or maybe it was his eyes—and that would be that.
She scanned the crowd, knowing that even in the crush of people, his height was unmistakable. After a couple of sweeps she spied him, a smile on his face as he laughed at something someone close to him said. From her vantage point it looked as if he were laughing at nothing, and she could only assume his aunt was nearby, filling the space next to him.
Lord, that man was a sight to behold when he smiled—all perfect white teeth and barely concealed masculinity.
She had tried not to think about him as she danced with Malcolm, but she couldn’t get Elliot out of her mind. She couldn’t forget the heat of him as they swayed to the music. The possessive way that he held her. The evidence of his desire.
And no matter how hard she tried not to, she couldn’t help but compare him to Malcolm. They were both tall. Both successful, both so darned handsome. But she much preferred dancing with Malcolm than being held so tightly against Elliot’s tall, hard body and … Well, they just didn’t compare.
Malcolm had a near brotherly way he held her, hands gentle, never assuming too much. Dancing with Malcolm was like a gentle stroll through the country. Dancing with Elliot was like riding shotgun in NASCAR. Dangerous, exciting, full of surprises.
They just didn’t compare.
With Malcolm she was comfortable. She could just sway in his arms and know that he would always be there.
And that’s what she wanted. Wasn’t it? True devotion, not silly romantic love, the kind that turned you bitter and jealous and old before your time.
Not bad. Just very, very different.
And they didn’t compare.
Really.
But tonight she was on edge. Dancing with Elliot and the whole birthday, my-life-isn’t-together-enough-to-turn-thirty, I-need-to-marry-Malcolm quandary that she’d found herself in. It made her say things she should have never said. Things she wouldn’t have said if she had thought them through. If only for that reason alone, she needed to make amends.
She wound her way through the crush until she was standing right in front of Elliot. He stopped mid-sentence to stare at her. It was as if he knew she had come to say something profound.
Okay, so profound was a pretty strong word, but he knew that she had something to say to him that was—at the very least—important.
Lila could feel his aunt’s gaze on her, but she locked eyes with Elliot and wouldn’t look away. Couldn’t look away.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” she started, hoping the rest would come just as easily. “I wanted to say I was sorry for accusing you of being gay.” Her voice dropped on the last word until it was nothing more than a whisper.
Elliot heard her because he raised one of those tawny eyebrows of his and waited for her to continue.
Miss Gertie must have heard, too. “Well, now,” she said in a falsely bright tone. “I think I see the Secretary of State, and he owes me a dance from last year. Excuse me.”
“Of course,” Elliot murmured, but he never took his gaze off Lila.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lila saw Miss Gertie wheel her chair around and head off to hunt down one of the most powerful men in America. Lila could only concentrate on the man in front of her.
“I got you a drink.” She extended the glass toward him.
“Thank you.” He took it from her.
They stood there, staring at each other for several awkward moments.
“Is there someplace we could talk? Clear the air?” She shifted from one foot to the other, feeling very much like she was on an awkward blind date.
Well, she was on an awkward blind date. But she was the main reason it was awkward, and she would have to be the one to set things to rights.
Elliot nodded and led her toward one of the tiny tables that dotted the lush grounds of th
e mansion.
He settled himself down in the tiny wrought iron chair looking ridiculous and handsome, like a bigger than life Ken at a four-year-old’s tea party. Then he leaned back and took a small sip of the amber liquor. He nodded his approval, then took a deeper draw as the warmth of his appreciation surrounded her. She had chosen his drink correctly. That had to be a good sign.
“I meant what I said,” Lila started. “I am sorry.”
“I’ll accept your apology on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“First you have to accept mine.” He reached across the table and took her hand into his own. “Aunt Gertie told me that you are a fine girl. How hard it’s been for you to retain your small town raisin’ in the modeling world—her words, not mine. I behaved badly toward you.”
“So how does your foot taste?”
He chuckled, a rich sound as warm as his eyes and twice as compelling. “Probably about as good as yours.”
“Touché.” She smiled and clinked her glass against his.
“I think it only fair you know the reason I said those things was to fight off this all-consuming attraction I have for you.”
Too bad there could never be anything between them.
“That’s an interesting point, Elliot, but … ” She paused trying to gather the words she needed.
“Malcolm,” Elliot said with a nod. “You’re a big girl. You can make your own decisions.”
“Malcolm loves me.” Now why didn’t her words sound convincing? She knew Malcolm had a ring for her. That had to count for something. Didn’t it?
Lila scrunched up her face, despite the fact it was bad for the crow’s feet and shook her head. Things hadn’t been the same since that Yankee came to town. “Malcolm loves me,” she said with more conviction this time.
“Really?” Elliot shot a pointed look at the dance floor where Malcolm danced.
With the brunette.
Very closely.
Close enough that you couldn’t get a breath between them.
Lila felt her stomach pitch, but at least she didn’t feel the pain—that blinding excruciating pain of a broken heart. Because she loved Malcolm the smart way, not in that lose-yourself-to-another-person way. He might be dancing with Roxanne now—no matter how he held her—but that wouldn’t mean anything tomorrow.
She would call Malcolm first thing in the morning, and they could spend the afternoon together before she had to board her flight. Maybe they could go on a picnic down by the river and drink hard lemonade and eat sandwiches. It was the perfect idea. Or, at least it was the best one she had, and it would have to suffice for now. Because if it didn’t, then where would she be? Sad. Pathetic. Thirty. Alone. Everything she had worked so hard for gone. Malcolm, her career.
She felt a warm hand close over hers, and she jerked her gaze around to collide with Elliot’s.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Lila nodded. “I’m fine.”
“No offense,” he said with a rueful smile. “But you don’t look okay. Do you want me to take you home?”
There was nothing more she could do here tonight. Plan D might look even better after a good night’s sleep. “Please.”
He stood, then took hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go.”
Lila let Elliot take over, and she walked to his left and slightly behind him as he told his aunt she wasn’t feeling well, and they were leaving.
Then he tucked her into his car and found his way back to Magnolia Acres without any help from her.
All she could think about was Malcolm and that Yankee reporter from Chicago. How they looked together while they were dancing. Like two pieces that had been long ago separated had found their way back together again to produce the whole.
That couldn’t be right. Because she was the other half of him. It was she who would complete him. Not in that impractical, all-consuming way, but in a way that was stable and sure. As old as the Smokey Mountains and twice as steady. Because of the love—secure, firm love—that she had for him.
She had loved him even when she was in New York, and he was in Tennessee. It was her love for him that had kept her grounded. Had kept her out of the club scene, kept her away from the drugs and the endless supply of men who wanted to sleep with a model as if somehow that made them more of a man. It was her love for him that had kept her from slipping over that edge from fashionably thin to anorectic. It was her love for him that had kept her sane. Kept her whole.
She had always loved him.
She loved him still.
Solid, sound, and true.
• • •
Elliot put his tiny little car into park and killed the engine. Next week at the latest, he was trading the damned thing in for something bigger. An Escalade, a Navigator. Maybe even a Hummer—the first model, not that puny little H3. He was tired of feeling like Gulliver among the Lilliputians in his own vehicle.
Lila had been quiet the entire ride back to the mansion. He supposed she had a lot on her mind. But to her credit, she wasn’t sobbing hysterically. She wasn’t even sobbing quietly. Just more proof she wasn’t in love with Malcolm Daniels.
Even if so, it wasn’t any skin off his nose.
Was it?
After all, they’d shared little more than a dance—okay, three—and a couple of drinks.
Yet there was this tiny part of him that kept whispering if given half a chance, he and Lila could have it all.
They had the chemistry. Hell, she made him hard just by crossing the room. She wasn’t what he thought he wanted in a mate and yet …
Well, maybe his aunt’s matchmaking techniques weren’t so bogus after all.
Despite the desire that burned between them—at least he had it on his side—Lila thought she was going to marry another man. That alone was enough to put a damper on things.
He turned slightly to face her and bumped his knee against the console. Monday morning. He was trading the damned car come first thing Monday morning.
“I’ll walk you to the door.” He reached for the handle, but stopped when he felt her hand on his arm. The warmth of her fingers soaked through his sleeve, and he loved the heat that seemed to radiate through him from that one little touch.
“Wait.” Her words were quiet in the dim interior of the car. Only the security lights that lined the drive provided any illumination.
But he didn’t need the glare of the sun to know she wanted to say more. To see she was nervous.
“Can we … ” She licked her lips, and he zeroed in on her mouth.
Like a blow to the gut, he wanted to kiss her. Not just possess her, but kiss her long and hard and deep. Kisses that lasted all night long and into the next day.
“Can we do something? Right now. Just the two of us.”
“You want to go back to the party?”
She shook her head. “No. I mean, I got all dressed up and … well, actually, I want an ice cream.”
Her simple wish made him smile. A model who wanted an ice cream. Time alone with Lila without the distraction of the party. Time to get to know each other a little better. As crazy as it sounded, he wanted to get to know her better.
A chance at a second chance. He gave her a nod and reached for the keys, still in the ignition. “All right then, an ice cream it is.”
Chapter Twelve
Roxanne tried to ignore the electricity that raced up her spine from the gentle touch of Malcolm’s hand at her back. Truman’s words about sexual chemistry came back to haunt her, but she pushed them aside. It was just the power of suggestion, nothing more.
She acted as if all was normal, passé even, as she breathed in Malcolm’s masculine scent. She pretended not to notice how every time she missed a step her thighs collided with his. She used to be a good dancer, but that was a million years ago. As it was now, her brain was far from able to discern the dance steps—no matter how simple or familiar they used to be—when her head was so filled with Malcolm.
He seemed distant, his jaw clenched tight as he kept a firm but gentle hold on her. Yet it wasn’t his touch which held her rapt attention. It was the way he smelled, like citrus and pine. Like expensive aftershave and one hundred percent male. It was the way he looked. The gold rimmed glasses that made him appear so lawyerly. The billions of tiny golden freckles that somehow made him weathered and boyish at the same time. It was the heat that flowed from him and seeped under her skin the way no other had before.
“You know,” Roxanne started, biting her lip to help ground her in reality. She had to remember this was Malcolm, State Senator from District Twenty-Seven. Her attorney. A guy who wouldn’t know fun if he were stranded on a deserted island with it. “I didn’t ask Truman to interrupt your dance with Lila.”
“I know.”
They danced in silence for a couple more beats.
“You don’t have to keep dancing with me,” she said.
“I know.”
More music. More silence.
“I mean, if you want to go talk to Miles Davidson, I’m sure I could dance with Truman again.”
“I know.” He never even bothered to look at her. It seemed as if something over her shoulder held more interest for him. Most likely Lila dancing with Miss Gertie’s great-nephew from Hattiesburg. Malcolm was probably keeping an eye on the pair just to make sure the handsome doctor wasn’t copping a feel. After all, she and Malcolm were practically engaged.
The thought made Roxanne miss the beat, and she crashed into Malcolm—hard. Her foot, clad in its high-heeled sandal, crashed down on top of his foot—hard.
“Sorry.” She winced. That was going to leave a mark.
“It’s okay,” he replied, just like the gentleman he was.
“I know you might find this hard to believe, but I used to be a pretty good dancer.”
“No offense, but what happened?”
She shrugged. “Out of practice, I guess.”
“Hmmm … I thought dancing was one of those things a person never forgets how to do. You know, like riding a bike.”
Southern Hospitality (Hot Southern Nights) Page 18
